Chapter 6 Chapter 5 Italy

What followed—was what seemed to be hours, days, and weeks of darkness and turbulence; suddenly saw the light, then entered the long dark corridor, was thrown here and there, was picked up, saw the light and Barley Miss Tet's close face, and the thin trees, the lines, the railroad tracks, and the tall, shiny and colorful houses—that's because there was a barbaric rule in railway transportation at that time, and dogs had to be kept in kennels when traveling.But Flush is not afraid; they have fled, away from the tyrant and the dog thief!As the train threw him here and there, the train continued to bump and rattle, and he whispered, "Bump and rattle as much as possible!"Just take us out of Whymper Street and Whitechapel.Finally, the light widened and the jolting stopped.Did he hear birds singing and trees sighing in the wind, or the sound of rushing water?When he finally opened his eyes and shook the fur off his body, he saw the most incredible spectacle in the world—Miss Barrett sitting on a rock in the rapids!The trees bent over her, the river surged around her, and she was at the end of her rope!Flush leaped, splashing in an instant, and swam across the river to her side. "...he was baptized in Petrarch's name!" said Miss Barrett as he climbed up the rock and drew near to her.It turned out that they were already in Vaucluse, in the south of France, and she was sitting on a stone in the fountain of Petrarch.

Then there was more jolting and rattling; and then he stood on the level floor again, and the darkness was pushed aside, and the light poured in and fell upon him.He felt strangely awake, alive, and at the same time very confused standing on the red tiled floor of a huge empty room, full of sunlight.He runs around, smells, touches.There were no rugs, no stoves, no sofas, no easy chairs, no bookshelves, no busts.The strong, unfamiliar smell tickled his nostrils and made him sneeze.He was dazzled by the harsh, clear light.He had never been in such a hard, bright, large, empty room—was it really a room?Miss Barrett looked even smaller in a chair by a table in the center of the room.Then Wilson led him out, and he felt almost blind—first the sunlight, then the shadows, making him almost invisible.Half the street was burning hot, the other half was freezing cold.The women walking on the road were wrapped in fur coats and covered their heads with parasols, and the street was extremely dry.Even though it was mid-November, there wasn't any mud or puddles on the road that would wet the soles of his feet and cling to his fur.There were no basement entrances, no iron railings, no thick, mixed smells of Whymper Street or Oxford Street, which always distracted him from his walks.But there was also a strange new smell coming from the sharp stone corners and the dry yellow walls, very pungent and very special.At this time, from behind a lightly swaying black curtain, came a burst of extremely sweet smell, floating in the air like a cloud.He stopped, raised his front feet, tasted it carefully, decided to follow in, and then drilled in from under the curtain, and suddenly caught a glimpse of a hall with a very high ceiling, an extremely empty space, full of light spots, and a loud rumbling noise.It's a pity that Wilson screamed and immediately pulled him back forcefully.They continued down; the noise in the street was deafening, and everyone seemed to be yelling at the same time.The sounds of London were a monotonous, hypnotic hum; here was a riot of shouting, now the whipping of whips, now the ringing of bells.Flush jumped left and right, and Wilson jumped left and right, and was forced to jump up and down the pavement at least twenty times to avoid a cart, or a steer, or a troop of soldiers, or a herd of goats. .He had never felt so young and alive in all these years.At last he sank, dazed but elated, on the red tiled floor into a deep sleep which he had never slept so soundly on the soft pillows of the back room in Whymper Street.

Flush soon realized there was an even bigger difference between Pisa—the city they now settled in—and London: the dogs were different!In London, even if it was just a walk to the postbox, he would come across pugs, terriers, bulldogs, mastiffs, collies, Newfoundlands, St. Bernards, fox terriers or spaniel families along the way. One of the most famous breed of dogs.He has names for every kind of dog, and they are all graded.In Pisa, however, there are many dogs, but no rank; for all—how can it be? —all mongrels.Greyhounds, yellow dogs, brindle dogs, Dalmatians .Is the dog club powerless in Italy?Hasn't anyone here heard of the Spaniel Club?Is there no law here stating that a crested hair is a fatal fault, that curly ears are a treasure, that the feathers on the feet must be protected, and that the brow-bones must be domed and not protruding?Obviously not!Flush felt like a prince in trouble, the only nobleman in a mob—he was the only purebred cola spaniel in the whole of Pisa!

Flush had been taught for years to think of himself as a noble dog, and the law of purple bowls and leashes was embedded in his soul, so it's not hard to imagine how much he was shaken.A man named Howard or Cavendish who lives in a mud hut in an Aboriginal village often cannot help but mourn Chatsworth, its red carpets and crowns in the fiery sunset through the stained-glass windows The promenade is not an exaggeration.There was, we must admit, a snobbish side in Flush; Miss Mitford had been aware of it many years before.In London, where this trait had been unremarkable among dogs of his equal and even superior quality, it was now on the rise again.He thinks he stands out from the crowd and has become arrogant and arrogant. "Flush thought he was the Emperor, and when he tried to get someone to open the door, he barked so hard that it made you mad," wrote Mrs. Browning. "Robert declares," she went on, "that Flush thinks God made him—my husband—to serve him; and it seems so."

"Robert," "my husband"—not only Flush had changed, but Miss Barrett had changed too.Now she not only called herself Mrs. Browning, but showed off her gold ring in the sun; she had changed as dramatically as Flush.Flush heard her say "Robert" and "my husband" at least fifty times a day, always in a tone of triumph that made the hairs on his neck stand on end and his heart beat faster.But it wasn't just the way she spoke that changed. Her whole being changed.For example, where she used to sip little port and complained of headaches, now she drank big glasses of Chindi and slept soundly; The fresh orange that Dai Ye just picked is no longer a lone sour yellow fruit; She went to Oxford Street to shop in a horse-drawn carriage, but took a dilapidated hire-carriage and staggered all the way to the lake to enjoy the mountain scenery; when she was tired, she stopped waving for another carriage and sat on a rock Watch the lizard.She is happy when the sun is out, and she is also happy when it is cold.When the fire was dying, she would throw pine branches from the Duke's Forest into the fire, and they would sit together in front of the crackling fire, sniffing hard at the pungent, rich scent of pine.She never tires of praising Italy and taking the opportunity to belittle England. "... poor us Englishmen," she lamented, "need to learn to be happy, to be purified by the sun, not the fire." In Italy, the sun breeds freedom, life, and joy; you don't see any man Fights, and you can't hear them cursing others; you never see Italians get drunk--"the faces of the men" in Sturditch came back to her!She's always comparing pizza to London, constantly emphasizing how much she loves pizza.A beautiful woman can walk alone in the streets of Pisa; a dame empties her own urinal before entering the palace "flamingly dazzled".Pizza, with its bells, mutts, camels, and pine forests, is far, far cuter than Whymper Street, with its mahogany doors and lamb chops.And so Mrs. Browning drank her glass of ground wine and picked oranges from newly broken branches every day, praising Italy and bemoaning poor, dull, damp, hazy, depressed, expensive, conformist England.

As for Wilson, at the beginning he still maintained the British style, which was even and steady.The memory of the butler and the basement, the front door and the curtains was still in her mind, not easily erased.Because she was "horrified by the exposure of Venus", she would refuse to continue visiting the art gallery; later, because of the care of a kind friend, she was able to glimpse the gorgeous interior of the Grand Duke's palace from the outside, but she still loyally supported the court of St. James and insisted on Said the latter's grandeur is even better. "The place...is disreputable compared to our English court," she reported, "but the imposing physique of one of the Grand Duke's bodyguards attracted her attention and her favor.Her passion is ignited, her judgment is shaken, and her personal standards are thrown into the background - Lily Wilson and bodyguard Ricky are in love!

Just as Mrs. Browning is busy exploring her newfound freedom, and enjoying her new discovery, Flush is busy discovering and exploring freedom.Before leaving Pisa (they moved to Florence in the spring of 1847), Flush faced the reality that at first troubled him: that the laws of the Kennel Club were not universal.He learned to accept that the pale crested was not a fatal flaw, and he began to adopt new ideas about canine society, at first on eggshells, but with each passing day he became more aware of the spirit of democracy.Even in Pisa, Mrs. Browning noted: "...every day he went out and spoke Italian to the puppies." After moving to Florence, even the last chains that had held him were broken.The momentous moment of total emancipation occurred at Cassina; as Flush galloped across the grass "like emeralds", frightened "pheasants flew about", he suddenly remembered the rules of Regent's Park: dogs must be on leashes.Where does "must" go now?Where did the leash go?Where are the park rangers and batons?All gone!Gone with dog thieves, dog clubs and spaniel clubs representing corrupt feudalism!Gone with the wheelchair and the two-seater carriage!Gone with Whitechapel and Shoreditch!He gallops, he gallops; his fur shines, his eyes shine.Now the whole world is his friend, and every dog ​​is his brother.In this new world, he doesn't need a leash, and he no longer needs protection.If Mr. Browning was slow to go out for a walk—with whom Flush was now a great friend—he would boldly command him; Much to the chagrin of Mrs. Browning, who was watching (she and Flush are now far less intimate than they used to be).She no longer needs to borrow his red fur and shining eyes to make up for her lack of life experience, because she has already found her own Pan in the vineyard and olive grove. Pan was also by the fire.So Flush stood up and barked if Mr. Browning procrastinated; and it didn't matter if Mr. Browning would rather stay home and write.Flush was quite independent now.Wisteria and laburnum are in full bloom all over the walls, log trees are stretching vigorously in the courtyard, and wild tulips are dotting the fields.Why should he wait?So he just ran off by himself.Now he is his own master. "...he went out by himself and didn't come back for hours," Mrs. Browning wrote: "...he knew every street in Florence and had his own opinion about everything." Then she remembered When living in Whymper Street, just because she accidentally left the dog leash in the Weir Street shop, the gang of thieves hid under the horse's legs, waiting for an opportunity to steal him, and could not help adding with a smile: "Now he doesn't At home, I never worry!" A Florentine has never known fear; there are no dog-thieves here--perhaps she thought with a sigh: There are no fathers here!

But to be honest, as soon as the door of the Guidi mansion was opened, Flush rushed out, not to gaze at the famous paintings, explore the dark churches, or look up at the faint frescoes, but to enjoy and find what he had been missing for many years. something.There was a time when Venus' horn blew wild music over the Berkshire fields, and he loved Mr. Partridge's dog, and had a child with her.Now, he heard the same sound again, resounding through the narrow alleys of Florence, and after all these years of silence, the music became more urgent and more violent than before.At this moment, Flush understands what humans have never understood--pure love, simple love, total love, love without burden, love without shame or regret, as only the bees who gather flowers understand, the moment The love of this moment—the rose today, the lily tomorrow, the thistle in the heath at one moment, the pouting orchid in the conservatory the next.So fraternal, so carefree, Flush hugs the spotted spaniel and the striped dog in the alley, and the yellow dog . . .It didn't matter who it was; it was all the same to Flush.He followed the sound of the horn, and the sound of the horn was carried by the wind.Love is everything, love is enough.No one blamed him for his dissolute behavior.Whenever Flush came home late at night, or even early the next morning, Mr. Browning just laughed and said, "It's a shame he's such a high-class dog!" Seeing Flush collapsed on the bedroom floor, Mrs. Browning laughed too as she fell asleep on the faux marble inlay of the Guidy family arms.

The rooms in Guidi's mansion are very empty.All the covered furniture that belonged to his reclusive days had disappeared, and now the bed was a bed, the washstand was a washstand, and everything was seen as it was.The living room is very spacious, with only a few old ebony carved chairs, a mirror hung on the fireplace, and two lamps hugged by two cupids on both sides.Mrs. Browning had thrown away all her Indian shawls, and wore a cap of bright silk which was her husband's favorite.Her hairstyle has also changed.Every day when the sun was setting and the shutters outside the window were drawn up, she would walk on the balcony in a thin white cotton dress.She loves sitting on the balcony watching and listening to the people on the street.

Not long after moving to Florence, one night the streets suddenly became crowded with people, and they all rushed to the balcony to see what was going on.A large group of people gathered below, carrying large cloth strips, shouting and singing.Every window was filled with faces, every balcony was crowded with people.The people behind the windows threw flowers and bay leaves at the people in the street, and the street crowd—serious men, excited young women—kissed each other and held the babies in their arms to the people on the balconies.Mr. and Mrs. Browning leaned on the railing, clapping and clapping.Strip after strip of cloth passed by, illuminated by torchlight, one with the words "Liberation," another "Italian Unity," "In memory of the martyrs," "Long live Pio Nono," and " Long live Leopold II".For three and a half hours, strips of cloth kept passing by and people cheered non-stop. Mr. and Mrs. Browning stood on the balcony, surrounded by six candles, and kept waving.Flush also stood between them, with his front feet on the cornerstone, and tried to cheer for a while.But then he finally couldn't help but yawned. "He finally spoke the truth and said he thought the group's activities a bit lengthy," observed Mrs. Browning.He felt suddenly tired, and a wave of doubt and obscene desire came over him.What the hell is this doing?he asked himself.Who was the Grand Duke, and what did he promise?Why are they so excited? —for he was a little annoyed by Mrs. Browning's constant waving whenever the banner passed.He felt that it was a bit exaggerated to be so enthusiastic for a grand duke.Then, just as the Grand Duke himself was passing by, he suddenly became aware of a puppy stopping at the door.He made a quick decision, and while Mrs. Browning was uncharacteristically excited, he slipped off the balcony and ran.He followed her through the banners and the crowd, and she ran farther and farther into the center of Florence.There was a clamor in the distance, but the cheering of the crowd gradually died away, and finally fell silent, and the torches were extinguished, leaving only a star or two shining on the water of the Arno, and Flush and the Two spotted spaniels lie side by side by the river, snuggled up in an old blanket on the dirt.Intoxicated with love they lay till the sun rose, and Flush did not come home until nine o'clock the next morning.Mrs. Browning greeted him with sarcasm, thinking that he should at least remember that today was her first wedding anniversary!But she guessed again: "He must have had a good time!" Yes; while she was inexplicably satisfied with the parade of four thousand people, the promise of the Grand Duke, and the excitement of the strips in the wind, Flush was Without hesitation, he chose the puppy by the door.

There is no doubt that Mrs. Browning and Flush went their separate ways on the paths of discovery, and came to very different things—she found a Grand Duke, and he found a spotted spaniel!Yet there's no denying the bond between the two remains strong.Although Flush had dismissed the notion of "must," he always felt held back every time he galloped through Cascina's gardens of golden and red pheasants and emerald greens; A premonition and hesitation.It was nothing at first--perhaps only a small hint--in the spring of 1849 Mrs. Browning was suddenly busy with her needlework!The sight puzzled Flush.She never sewed much.He also noticed that Wilson had moved a bed, then opened a drawer and put a number of white cloths in it.He looked up from the tiled floor, watching and listening intently; was something big about to happen?He looked anxiously for signs of suitcases and packing.Are you going to run away again?But where to flee this time, and what to hide from?There was nothing to fear here, he assured Mrs. Browning.In Florence, neither of them had to worry, to be afraid of Mr. Taylor, or to see a dog's head wrapped in a brown paper bag.He was perplexed, because the signs of change he perceived did not seem to imply flight, but mysteriously represented a kind of anticipation.He watched Mrs. Browning, sewing in her low chair, so poised and quiet that what was about to happen must be inevitable and terrible.As the weeks passed, Mrs. Browning hardly ever went out.She always sat there, as if expecting something important to happen.Was she waiting for some villain like Tyler, ready to let him punch and kick her and ask no one for help?Flush trembled all over at the thought.She certainly wasn't planning to run away, he couldn't see the packed boxes, and there was no sign of anyone getting ready to leave the house - it looked like someone was about to arrive.The jealous and anxious Flush kept a close eye on each newcomer, but there were now many such people, such as Miss Brigdon, Mr. Lando, Heidi Holsmore, Mr. Lytton...etc., now come There were too many gentlemen and ladies walking around in Guidy's mansion, but Mrs. Browning sat in an easy chair and sewed quietly day after day. Then, at the beginning of March, one day Mrs. Browning did not come into the drawing-room all day.The others came in and out, as did Mr. Browning and Wilson, and they looked so disturbed that Flush decided to hide under the sofa.Many people were busy running up and down the stairs, shouting in low voices, and uttering all kinds of weird and unfamiliar whispers.They were all walking up and down the upstairs bedroom, and he was digging deeper and deeper into the shadow of the sofa, every nerve in his body clearly sensing that a change was coming, that something terrible was happening.He waited, as he had waited for Mysterio's footsteps up the stairs all those years ago, until at last the door opened and Miss Barrett shouted, "Mr. Browning!" But who was it now?Which mystery guest is it?Time passed slowly, and no one paid attention to him.He lay in the living room with no food or water, and would have ignored a thousand spotted spaniels sniffing at the front door, because as the hours passed, the feeling of alienation in him The feeling of forced intrusion of objects into the home is getting stronger and stronger.He peeked out from under the ruffles of the sofa, two cupids holding lamps, ebony cabinets, French chairs... all looked like they had been split in half, and he himself felt as if he was trying to make room for the What cannot be seen, is forced to squeeze against the wall.During this period, he saw Mr. Browning once, but he seemed to be a different person; he also saw Wilson once, and she changed—they seemed to see something that he couldn't see but felt, and they His eyes shone with a strange light. Finally, Wilson, flushed, disheveled and triumphant, took him in his arms and went upstairs.They went into the bedroom together.There was a faint bleating sound from the shadowed room—something was waving on the pillow; it was a living thing!Mrs. Browning was alone in her room, without even opening the front door, and turned from one to two!The horrible thing lay beside her, flailing its arms and meowing.Flush felt a burst of jealousy and anger rushing into his heart, coupled with a strong disgust he couldn't hide, he wrestled away from Wilson's arms and rushed downstairs.Wilson and Mrs. Browning were telling him to go back, they were baiting him with soft words and offering him snacks, but it was no use, he just wanted to get away from that disgusting sight, that disgusting thing, Hide anywhere—a couch in the shadows, a dark corner. "... For two whole weeks, he suffered from severe depression, no matter how much he tried to coax him, it was useless." Even Mrs. Browning, who was too busy to spare her time, had to notice this.If we convert human time into dog time, imagine how a minute expands into an hour, and how an hour expands into a day. If Flush's "serious depression" lasted for six full months, it is not surprising. Too much.Many men and women may have completely forgotten their love and hatred in less than six months! Flush, however, was not the untrained, unsophisticated dog of the Whymper Street days, and he had learned his lesson.He took a beating from Wilson, barely swallowed a cake that was fresh but turned moldy, and then he swore to love and not to bite.When he was lying under the sofa, the past was vivid, stirring in his heart.Then he finally figured it out, and he was rewarded again.To be honest, the reward was not specific at first, and it was a bit too much for him to bear.They put the baby on his back, and Flush had to carry him up and down and endure the baby pulling at his ears.But he was submissive and had a very good demeanor, even if his ears were pulled, he only turned his head to "kiss those dimpled little bare feet".Three months later, that helpless bunch of babbling and meowing little meatballs came to like him best—or so Mrs. Browning said.Best of all, Flush discovers that the baby likes him, and he likes the baby too.Don't they both have something in common?Does the baby look like Flush in many ways?Don't they have many of the same views and tastes?Let's take the matter of admiring the scenery!All landscapes were dull to Flush, who hadn't learned to focus on the mountains over the years.They took him on vacation to Vallombrosa, but the majestic forests there made him feel poor and boring.When the baby was a few months old, they again traveled long distances in a carriage.The baby lay on the nurse's lap, and Flush sat on Mrs. Browning's lap.The carriage went on and on, non-stop, and climbed up the peak of the Apennine Mountains with difficulty. Mrs. Browning couldn't help but her face was almost stuck to the window. Even if she used all the English words, it seemed impossible to describe Thousands of feelings in her heart. "... the scenery of the Apennines is beautiful and delicate, almost dreamlike, with various shapes and colors, and the strange peaks overlap each other, each with its own characteristics. Clinging to the rocks; the mountain ranges seem to have been formed by competing to climb and squeeze each other, and are discolored by too much effort..." - The beauty of the Apennines inspired Mrs. Browning, and the adjectives and sentences rushed out, Climbing and squeezing each other out.But Baby and Flush didn't feel inspired or excited at all.They were both very quiet; Flush "turned his head away from the window, because he saw nothing to see... He had an inexpressible contempt for trees and hills, or anything like that," Mrs. Browning did above conclusion.The carriage went on plodding, Flush slept his sleep, and the baby slept.At last they saw lights and houses, and men and women began to pass by the windows.As the carriage entered a village, Flush awoke at once, full of interest. “…his eyes roll like they’re about to pop out, looking east and west, making you think he’s taking notes.” It’s human activity, not beauty, that excites him If "beauty" wants to touch Flush's senses, at least it must first crystallize into a green or blue-purple powder, and then some fairy injects it into Flush's nostrils with a syringe, and penetrates into the blood behind his nostrils. Mesh pipes will do.And Flush's response would not be verbal, but silent ecstasy.Mrs Browning saw with his eyes, he smelled with his nose; she wrote, he smelled. At this point in writing, the author must pause for a while due to the situation.We often feel that two or three thousand words are not enough to describe what our eyes see - Mrs. Browning confessed to being defeated by the Apennines: "I really can't describe these scenes," - but often used to describe what we smell words, but may not exceed two.The human nose is almost non-existent, and the greatest poet in the world can only smell roses and feces. As for the subtle changes in between, no one has ever recorded it.Flush, however, lives in the world of smell: love is mainly smell, shape and color are also smell, music, architecture, law, politics and science are all smell.For him, religion is taste.To describe his simple daily experience of steak or biscuits is beyond my powers, and even Mr. Swinburne cannot describe what the smell of Whymper Street represented to Flush on a hot June afternoon. significance.If you want to describe the smell of a spaniel, but also mixed with torches, bay leaves, incense, large cloth strips, candles, and a bunch of rose leaves crushed by a satin high-heeled shoe placed in a pile of mothballs..., Perhaps it would have been possible only if Shakespeare had stopped and pondered in the middle of writing Antony and Cleopatra; but Shakespeare did not stop and ponder.After acknowledging my lack of power here, the author can only emphasize that during Fluch's most fulfilling, freest, and happiest years, Italy was mainly a series of flavors for him.Love must have gradually lost its appeal, but taste never will.Now that the family has settled down again at Guidy Mansion, everyone has his own place: Mr. Browning writes in one room, Mrs. Browning in another, the baby plays in the nursery, and Flush writes in the nursery. Wander the streets of Florence and enjoy the ecstasy of smell.Following the lead of the smell, he shuttled between the main road and the back street, the square and the alley, sniffing one smell after another—rough, smooth, dark, golden smell.He went in and out, up and down, someone was banging a musical instrument, someone was baking bread, a woman sat combing her hair, birdcages were stacked high on the causeway, someone spilled red wine on the pavement, leaving crimson stains , the harness smelled of leather and garlic, the cloth was beating, the grape leaves trembled in the wind, the men gathered drinking and spitting and throwing dice—he was always running with his nose to the ground, drinking all the essence, Or look up and let your nose vibrate with the smell in the wind.He sleeps on the ground warmed by the sun - the sun makes the stones steam and smoke!He slipped into a passage of shadows - shadows make stones sour!He devours bunches of ripe grapes for the purple taste; he chews and spits out hard goat bones or macaroni thrown by Italian women from the balcony - both goat bones and macaroni have that raspy taste The smell of scarlet.He followed the heady sweet smell into the violet labyrinth of the dark cathedral, sniffing and trying to lick the gold leaf on the stained-glass tomb.But that did not mean that he had a poor sense of touch; he was familiar with the smoothness of Florentine marble, and the roughness of gravel and pebbles.The fuzzy folds of the curtain and the smooth edges of the stone had been licked by his tongue and lightly touched by his quivering muzzle.As for his extremely sensitive paw pads, they are clearly rubbed with precious Latin inscriptions.In other words, no one can imitate his familiarity with Florence; nor can anyone who loves Florence such as Ruskin and Eliot.Only a man who cannot speak can understand Flush's feelings.None of his innumerable senses had ever been distorted by words. Although the author is happy to infer from this that the second half of Flush's life will be an indescribable feast-compared with a baby who learns to speak one more word every day, and thus is farther away from sensory perception every day, Flush who cannot speak is therefore Destined to remain forever in a heaven where the essence of all things remains in its highest purity, and the soul of all things is presented naked - unfortunately this is not true.Flush wasn't living in Paradise.The gods soaring among the stars, the birds flying between the polar ice and snow and tropical forests, because they have never known human fireworks and human houses, perhaps—in our imagination—can have this kind of immunity and enjoy Such a perfect paradise.But Flush has slept on human laps, heard human voices, and is filled with human enthusiasm; he understands all levels of jealousy, anger, and despair, and must therefore suffer.Now that summer arrives, he begins to suffer from fleas, confronting the cruel irony that the sun that ripens the grapes also brings fleas. "...here in Florence, Savonarola's martyrdom was not much worse than that of Flush in the summer." Fleas were alive and well in every corner of every house in Florence, from every crevice of every old stone, every Creeping out of the folds of an old curtain, out of every coat, hat, and blanket, hopped into a nest in Flush's fur, and slowly nibbled down to the innermost layer.He scratched desperately, scratched his skin, and his health deteriorated. He became depressed, emaciated, and often had high fevers.Mrs. Browning wrote to Miss Mitford for help: What is the cure for fleas?Miss Mitford, still sitting in the conservatory at Three Mile Marker writing tragedies, puts her pen down, and Flush—the biography of a dog in Woolf's anthology—began to look up old prescriptions—how many mayflowers, how many rosebuds to take —While the Reading fleas die when wrung, the Florence fleas are red, strong, and fecund; and Miss Mitford's powder seems to them no more than a powder!In desperation, Mr. and Mrs. Browning had to kneel beside the bucket and use soap and brushes to get rid of all the annoying fleas, but in vain.Finally one day Mr. Browning, who was taking Flush out for a walk, noticed others pointing, and one of them pointed to his nose and whispered, "La rogna" (look at that mangy dog)!By this time "Robert was as fond of Flush as I was," and it was intolerable to take a friend out for an afternoon walk, and to hear him so humiliated; .Now there is only one solution left, but this treatment is as drastic and unpleasant as the disease itself.尽管弗勒希已变得十分民主，不再在意身份地位的象征，但他仍然深信锡德尼爵士所说的话：他天生是一名绅士。他的纯正血统显而易见；他的那一身毛皮对他来说，好比家道中落的乡绅怀中那枚镌有家族纹章的金表——昔日拥有万亩良田，如今却缩水到只剩这小小一圈。布朗宁先生提议牺牲他的毛皮，他把弗勒希唤到跟前，“抄起一把剪刀，从头剪到尾，把他剪得像头狮子。” 随着罗伯特·布朗宁一刀接一刀地剪，西班牙猎犬的勋章掉落地上，一副截然不同、滑稽的动物造型逐渐浮现在他颈部周围，弗勒希觉得自己仿佛遭到阉割，变得垂头丧气，羞愧得无地自容。我现在是什么呢？他对着镜子问道。镜子一如往常，残酷又诚实地答道：“你什么都不是！”他是个无名小卒，不再是一只西班牙猎犬了！但就在他凝视镜子时，他那两片光秃秃、不再卷曲的耳朵，似乎在轻轻抽搐着，仿佛真理与欢笑的精灵在透过它们絮语似的。毕竟，做个无名小卒，不正是世界上最令人满足的状态吗？他再看看镜中的自己：那是他的环状颈毛，用他来模仿、解嘲那些自以为了不起的家伙，不也是种极有潜力的事业吗？而且无论如何，他肯定再也不必为跳蚤烦恼了。他甩甩自己的颈毛，抖抖他无毛瘦弱的脚，跳起舞来，精神随之大振。此刻的他就像一位刚从病床上起身的大美人，发现自己的容貌已不再美丽，决定将所有衣裳及化妆品付之一炬，同时想到自己再也不必照镜子，或为爱人变心、情敌貌美而担心受怕，而开心地大笑；或像一位穿了二十年浆硬了的黑呢圣袍的教士，决定把硬领子扔进垃圾桶里，再从橱柜里抽出伏尔泰的书一般。就这样，被剪得像只秃狮子，却再也不必为跳蚤而苦的弗勒希，开开心心地跑走了。“弗勒希，”布朗宁夫人写信给她姊妹说：“很有智能！”或许当时她想到希腊的俗谚：快乐是痛苦的果实——真正的哲学家，就是虽然失去毛皮，却不再为跳蚤所苦的弗勒希！ 不过没等多久，弗勒希的新智能便受到了考验。一八五二年夏天，圭迪府邸内再度出现各种危机即将降临的征兆——抽屉被拉开，绳头吊在箱子上……，这些无声的线索之于狗，好比预示闪电的云之于牧羊人，或预示战争的谣言之于政客。显然即将发生另一项变化、另一次旅行；但为了什么呢？皮箱都被拖下来，捆上绳索，婴儿被保姆抱在臂弯里，布朗宁先生及夫人穿着旅行装束出现，出租马车停在门口，弗勒希则像个哲学家似地等在玄关里；等他们都准备好了，他随时可以上路。现在所有人都坐进马车内，弗勒希轻盈地纵身一跃，最后一个跳上车。威尼斯、罗马或巴黎——他们打算去哪里呢？现在每个国家对他而言都一样，四海之内皆兄弟——他已经学到这个教训了。可是当他从不解中走出来时，他却发现再多的哲学也不够——因为他竟回到了伦敦！ 房子从左到右排列在以规律砖头砌成、有棱有角的道路两旁，他脚底下的人行道既冷又硬，一位全身裹在紫色蓬蓬裙内的淑女从镶有黄铜门环的桃花心木大门里走出来，头发上别了一顶缀饰花朵的小花冠；她撩起大堆裙摆，带着不屑的表情朝街上乜了两眼，马夫立刻弯腰将四轮大马车的台阶放下来。整条威白克街——那儿正是威白克街——笼罩在雍容华贵的红光之中，不似意大利的光线那般清澄强烈，而是呈黄褐色，同时因为数以百万计的车轮不断碾过及数以百万计的马蹄不停践踏而灰尘飞扬。伦敦正值最忙碌的季节，如帷幕般的声浪，如云集般交织的嗡嗡声，网住整个城市，汇集成一片巨吼。前面走来一只由侍童以铁链牵着的威武猎鹿犬，一位警察踩着极有韵律的脚步经过，瞪着如牛眼般的大眼左右察看；炖锅的味道、牛肉的味道、炙烤的味道、牛肉烧甘蓝菜的味道……，从上千个地下室里飘出来；一名穿制服的仆役将一封信投进邮箱里。 震慑于大都会的繁华，弗勒希踏过门槛的脚步踌躇了片刻；威尔森也踌躇了片刻。意大利的文明，宫廷、革命、大公爵和大公爵的侍卫们，此刻似乎都显得多么微不足道啊！当那名警察经过时，威尔森不禁感谢上苍，到底没让她下嫁里基先生。这时一个邪恶的身影从街角一家酒馆里走出来，那男人不怀好意地斜眼看着他，弗勒希立刻冲进屋内。 几个星期以来，他几乎是一直被关在威白克街一间宿舍的客厅里。隔绝乃必要措施，因为霍乱正在流行。贫民窟内的状况虽因霍乱的流行而改善，可惜改善的程度不大，狗儿遭窃的情况仍层出不穷，而温珀尔街的狗出入仍须系链。弗勒希当然有他的社交生活，他会在邮筒旁和酒馆外碰见别的狗，它们以狗族与生俱来的良好风度及教养欢迎他归来。就像一位长住在东方，并染上若干土著习惯的英国贵族——谣传他已改信回教，还跟一名中国洗衣妇生了儿子——当他返回宫廷社交圈，发现老朋友们都愿意忘记他曾误入歧途，慷慨地邀请他去查茨沃思，而且大家当然都不提他的老婆，同时假定他会和其他人一起祷告；同样的，温珀尔街上的那些指示犬及蹲猎犬也欢迎弗勒希归来，且不计较他身上毛皮的状态。可是弗勒希却感觉伦敦的狗现在似乎都有点病态。比方说，大家都知道，卡莱尔夫人的狗尼禄曾经从顶楼窗口跳出去，企图自杀；据说因为他觉得住在钱尼路上压力太大。重返威白克街的弗勒希一点都不觉得意外；整天闭居在家，周围堆满小对象，晚上有油虫，白天有青蝇，羊排的膻味驱之不去，餐具架上永远摆着香蕉……，再加上整天和好几位穿着厚重，却不常或根本不洗澡的男人女人摩肩接踵，的确令他脾气暴躁、神经紧张。他经常躺在宿舍的食品柜下面，一躺就是几个小时。他不可能溜出门外，因为前门永远锁着；他必须等别人替他系上狗链，带他出去。 客居伦敦数周，只发生了两件事，暂时打破一成不变的生活形态。夏末的某一天，布朗宁一家赴法能去拜访查尔斯·金斯利牧师。若是在意大利，这个时节土地早已硬得像砖头，跳蚤肆虐。每条狗都会显得无精打采，拖着脚步，从一个阴影躲进另一个阴影里，若能碰上多纳太罗雕像抬起的手臂所投下的一条细细的影子，便要感激不尽了。然而法能却有绿茵覆盖的田野，蓝色的水池和絮语的树林，而且草皮细软得脚掌踏上去仿佛都会弹起来似的。布朗宁与金斯利两家人一起消磨了一整天，当弗勒希昂首阔步地跟在他们后面，昔日的号角再度响起，旧日的狂喜重新出现——那是只野兔，还是只狐狸？弗勒希在萨里的石楠丛荒野间狂奔，仿佛自住在三英里界标那段日子之后，从没有这样痛快地跑过。一只有着紫色与金色羽毛的雉迅速往上飞，他差点就一口咬住雉尾巴上的羽毛，但就在那一瞬间，有人大喝一声，抽了一下皮鞭。是金斯利牧师在高声叫他回去吗？总之，它停止狂奔；法能的树林受到严格的保护。 几天之后，他躺在威白克街的客厅内，布朗宁夫人穿好散步的服装走进来，把他从食品柜下叫出来，将狗链套在他项圈上，自一八四六年九月以来，第一次带他一起走回温珀尔街。他俩走到五十号门前，仿佛昨日一般，停下脚步。仿佛昨日一般，来应门的仆役长仍动作缓慢。后来门终于打开，躺在踏脚垫上的是凯弟郎吗？那只没牙的老狗打了个呵欠，伸个懒腰，对他们视而不见。就像当年离家下楼的时候一样，他们一声不响、偷偷摸摸爬上楼去。情怯的布朗宁夫人似乎害怕自己即将看到的景象，悄然将房门一扇接一扇地打开，脸色也愈来愈阴沉。“……那些房间看起来，”她写道，“显得又小又阴暗，家具既不搭配，又不方便。”常春藤仍旧轻扣后面卧房的窗棂，彩绘的窗帘仍旧遮蔽着光线，一切都没有变，仿佛这么多年来什么事都没有发生似的。就这样，她从一个房间走到另一个房间，哀愁地回忆着。但早在她结束探视之前，弗勒希已无端焦虑起来。万一巴雷特先生忽然进来，发现他们怎么办？万一他眉头一皱、眼睛一瞪，转动钥匙，把他们永远锁在后面卧房里，那怎么办？终于，布朗宁夫人把所有房门都关好，静悄悄地下了楼。没错，她说，这栋房子的确需要好好清理一下。 从此，弗勒希便只有一个心愿——永远离开伦敦，永远离开英国。直到登上横越海峡，驶往法国的渡轮甲板上，他才快乐起来。那次航行风浪极大，花了八个小时才过海。随着渡轮剧烈颠簸摇晃，弗勒希的心中亦思潮起伏；他想起身穿紫色丝绒的淑女，拎着大包小包、衣衫褴褛的男人，摄政公园，维多利亚女王在骑马侍从簇拥之下浩浩荡荡地经过，英国草地的翠绿及人行道的恶臭……，一幕幕滑过躺在甲板上的他的心头；这时他抬起头，看见一位身材高大、表情严肃的男士，倾身靠在栏杆旁。 “卡莱尔先生！”他听见布朗宁夫人高喊；就在那一瞬间——各位别忘了那次航行风浪极大——弗勒希开始猛烈呕吐。水手们提着水桶及拖把冲过来，“……可怜的狗儿，立刻被赶下甲板，”布朗宁夫人说；因为甲板上仍为英国属地，禁止狗在甲板上呕吐——这便是他对祖国海岸最后的致意！